“I’ve been thinking about this,” he growls against my throat, beard scraping across my skin. “About how you taste. About how you moan when you fall apart for me.”
“Then make me,” I say, grabbing a fistful of his hair. “Make me feel everything you’ve been holding back.”
He drops me just long enough to yank my shirt over my head. There’s nothing soft in his face, just raw hunger.
His mouth crashes down on my breast, tongue lashing at my nipple before he sucks it deep into his mouth. I cry out, hips shifting as he pulls at the other with his hand, flicking and teasing until I’m panting. My whole body is tight, desperate. I can’t think. I don’t want to.
Then he’s on his knees, hands clamped to my hips, dragging my sweatpants down my legs like they’re in his way, which they are. I kick them aside, standing there in nothing but thin cotton panties. He stares like he’s ready to devour me whole.
“Legs. Apart.”
I obey instantly, and he peels my underwear down slow, intently watching the entire time. There’s no teasing smirk, no gentleness. Just heat. Pure, filthy need.
He leans in, breath hot against my bare skin, “You’re not walking out of this room until I’ve had every inch of you.”
I comply, widening my stance as much as the panties bunched around my ankles allow. Thor’s hands slide up the backs of my calves, then my thighs, until he’s gripping my ass. He pulls me forward until I’m right where he wants me—bare, exposed, and dripping for him.
“Look at this pussy,” he growls. “Already soaked for me. You needed this, didn’t you? Needed someone, needed me, to take care of you properly.”
I nod, barely able to breathe. One hand finds the back of his head, fingers twisting in his hair as his breath ghosts over me.
“Please.”
The first swipe of his tongue makes my knees buckle. He starts slow, long teasing strokes that drive me up the wall—literally and figuratively. I squirm, needing more, but he pins me in place, mouth working me with maddening patience.
“You’re so fucking sweet,” he mutters against me. “Messy and needy. Just how I like you.”
When he focuses on my clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue, I cry out. My hips jerk, chasing the pressure, and he groans in approval.
“Yeah, that’s it. Grind on my face. Use me.”
“Thor,” I gasp, head hitting the wall behind me. “Please…”
“You gonna come for me?” he growls, his voice rough against my skin. His tongue drags deeper now, slower, deliberate—like he’s savoring every reaction, every twitch of my body beneath his mouth. “Gonna fall apart on my face like a good girl?”
“Yes—God, yes?—”
He slides one thick finger inside me, curling it up just right. My hips jerk, a gasp catching in my throat. Then a second finger joins the first, his hand moving in perfect sync with the rhythm of his tongue, coaxing me closer to the edge with maddening precision.
“You feel that?” he rasps against my flesh. “That little spot right there?” His fingers press again, firm and possessive. “That’s mine.”
The orgasm builds—fast, hot, devastating. And he knows it. He doesn't let up. If anything, he doubles down—fingers thrusting harder, mouth relentless until he sucks my clit between his lips and the world breaks open.
I cry out his name, loud and unfiltered, legs shaking, muscles clenching around his fingers as the orgasm crashes through me like a freight train. He keeps going—riding it out, dragging it higher, longer—until I’m trembling, breathless, barely holding on.
“Fuck,” he growls, licking me one last time, slow and filthy. “You come so fucking hard for me.”
He rises to his feet, towering over me, chest heaving. My eyes snap open, locking onto his.
His face is still soaked with me—slick and shining in the low light—and he doesn’t bother wiping it away. He licks his lips instead, slow and filthy, savoring the taste like it’s a drug he’s just claimed as his own.
“You feel that?” he rasps, voice rough with hunger. “That’s what it means to fucking belong to me.”
I’m wrecked—legs shaking, thighs slick, body boneless from the orgasm he tore out of me—and helovesit. I can see it in the way his cock strains against his jeans, the way his jaw clenches like he’s holding himself back with a thread.
He steps closer, towering above me like a shadow made of heat and fury, eyes dragging down the length of my body.
“Turn around,” he growls. “Hands on the bed. Now.”
